


Kibble

by NihilismBot



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome - M/M/M, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Xenobiology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 14:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16599374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NihilismBot/pseuds/NihilismBot
Summary: A collection of some shorter (horny) fic-lets





	1. Perceptor/Brainstorm

Everything that Brainstorm created was impressive. Even if it wasn't amazing in technical ability, the sheer amount of creativity needed to conceive it was awe inspiring. Of course, these were things Perceptor wouldn't tell Brainstorm, lest it go to his head (which it would.) But it was the reason he was feeling so underwhelmed right now.

“You drink it and it changes the taste of your transfluid!” Brainstorm chirped excitedly.

Perceptor looked at the vial and gave the liquid a gentle swish. “That's it?”

Brainstorm looked confused. “Yeah, that's it. What else should it do?”

“Nothing, I suppose.” Perceptor frowned. “Well, what does it make your fluid taste like?”

“Strawberries!”

Perceptor lowed the vial to look directly at Brainstorm. “Strawberries? Have you ever had strawberries? Do you know what those taste like?”

Brainstorm grinned. “I will if you let me try it out.”

A small smirk struck Perceptor's face. “If you wished to be intimate, there was no need for this elaborate set-up.”

“Percy!” Brainstorm put a hand to his chest. “I am insulted! You think this is the best I could do for an elaborate set-up?! If I wanted to make up a reason that we **had** to interface at this very moment, I could do much better than 'I want to test out this new formula!'”

Still smiling, Perceptor put up his hands in surrender. “You're right.” He took a step closer to Brainstorm and cupped his face between his hands, the vial still pinched between his thumb and palm. “You're much more clever than that.” He pulled Brainstorm down for a soft kiss.

Brainstorm's arms snaked around Perceptor's waist to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. Perceptor broke the kiss and immediately put a hand up to stop Brainstorm from trying for another one. “Don't you want me to test out your little concoction?”

“Huh?” Brainstorm was still in a mild daze from the kiss. “Oh, right. Yes. Be sure to drink the whole thing.”

Perhaps Perceptor should have been more skeptical, but it seemed unlikely that this solution of Brainstorm's should cause anything worse than an upset fuel intake. Brainstorm rarely asked Perceptor to be the first one to try any of his experiments. Though, the image of Brainstorm testing the success of this particular mixture was more...odd than some of his others.

Perceptor gave the mixture as quick sniff before drinking it down. It didn't smell like much and a sort of chemical taste with an aftertaste of artificial sweetener. Nothing pleasant, but it was tolerable. “How long do we wait now?” Perceptor asked.

Brainstorm looked positively giddy. “You should know when it starts working. While we wait, we can go back to that kissing thing we were doing. I liked that.”

Wrapping his arms around Brainstorm's neck, Perceptor smiled warmly before pulling him into another kiss. Brainstorm eagerly returned the gesture, his own hands easily find their place at Perceptor's waist. Their kisses remained gentle, affectionate peppering of lips against lips and cheeks. It wasn't until Brainstorm gave a peck to Perceptor's scope that the red mech realized his fans had begun roaring.

“Ah,” Perceptor's frame felt hot very suddenly. “I suppose this means your little formula is working?”

Smiling, Brain lead Perceptor back to a chair, carefully helping him sit. “It may have a slight aphrodisiac effect. I couldn't tell you though, it might influence your behavior.”

Perceptor smiled through dimmed optics. “Placebo effect. Of course.” He kept a hold of Brainstorm's hand as the jet lowered himself to his knees.

Heat continued to spread through Perceptor's systems making it hard to think. It wasn't worrying, at least not when he was with a mech he trusted. A sort of pleasant haze that made all of Brainstorm's touches tingling on his plating. There was some simple joy in just sitting back and not thinking while Brainstorm lavished him in affection.

It seemed almost an act of worship, the way Brainstorm knelt between Perceptor's thighs and kissed a trail up his leg. His thumb traced circles in Perceptor's palm. His EM field sent waves of desire and adoration for his partner.

“Brainstorm...” Perceptor half-moaned and half-laughed. “Your formula might be too effective. I think I could overload just from this.”

“That so?” Brainstorm licked the length of Perceptor's interface panel. “That is something I'll need to work on. Maybe only a half dose next time. Well, we still have other effects to test.”

He didn't need to say anything else for Perceptor to snap open his panel and allow his spike to pressurize. Brainstorm wasted no time in licking the red and black spike from base to tip. Perceptor arched back with a gasp. He immediately bit down on a free knuckle, his other hand tightened its grip on Brainstorm's own hand.

Brainstorm took all of Perceptor's spike into his mouth, eagerly bobbing his head. Distantly, Perceptor mused on how they really did need to weaken the formula, he should not be undone so soon. More present in his mind was how good everything felt. Brainstorm's hand on his thigh. Brainstorm's hand in his hand. And most obvious, Brainstorm's mouth around his spike.

With hollow cheeks, Brainstorm couldn't properly suck on Perceptor's spike, but that didn't stop the jet from being talented with his mouth in other ways. Glossa swirling on the tip of the spike, lips pressing on nodes, the simple warm wetness of an inviting mouth.

“B-Brainstorm,” Perceptor squeaked before biting down on his knuckle again.

Brainstorm lifted his mouth off Perceptor's spike and began jerking him with his hand. Wasn't this a taste experiment? It wasn't something Perceptor could think about at the moment. He arched back and did his best to muffle the cries of his overload though some moans still escaped in high squeaks. His frame shuddered at the much needed released. The growing heat within him left in a tingling wave that swept his body. His transfluids his Brainstorm's face.

His fans continued to spin loudly, rapidly cooling his frame. Unfocused optics looked at Brainstorm. “I thought you wanted to taste my transfluids. Not wear them.”

Brainstorm smiled. “Wait!” He stood up and quickly made his way to the door. He flicked off the light switch. “Ta-dah!”

Perceptor lazily rolled his head to look at him. “Ah. It glows.”

“Yeah!”

“And the taste?”

Brainstorm swiped some fluid from his cheek and gave it a try. He didn't say anything.

“Well?”

“Well.” Brainstorm chuckled. “I don't know what strawberries taste like.”

 


	2. Megatron/Soundwave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G1 Continuity.  
> Soundwave cheering up Megatron

Another failure. He was so sure he had it this time too! It was simple, all they had to do was drill to the center of the Earth and harvest energy from the core! The planet would shrivel and die, but the Decepticons would be fat and happy and could move on to a less miserable planet. Of course, the Autobots stepped in and ruined everything!

Megatron collapsed on to his throne. He rested his elbow on an arm rest and pinched the bridge of his nose. How much longer must they suffer these humiliating defeats?

A message entered his mind, _“Megatron: Take rest?”_ It was obviously from Soundwave, no one else had that particular cadence. Further, no one else was a telepath.

“ _It's not necessary,”_ he thought back.

A hand fell on to the warlord's shoulder making his jump.

“ _Megatron: Tense. Recommendation: Rest.”_

Perhaps his communications officer was correct. A small rest may be beneficial. _“Come with me.”_

“ _Acknowledged.”_

Megatron stood up and began to walk towards his quarters. Soundwave waited for a moment before following behind. This behavior was something of a relic from when they were trying to keep the nature of their relationship discrete. Too many centuries had passed since there was any need for such secrecy, but it was too hardwired in Soundwave's mind for him to stop now.

The door to his quarters slid open shakily, they hadn't had the resources for minor repairs. Normally such small inconveniences would barely register for him, but after another failure of a mission, everything was getting to Megatron. He refrained from punching the door, lest he make the problem worse, before he lay on his berth.

It wasn't long before Soundwave came in, the door creaking as if announcing his entrance.

“ _Megatron: Comfortable?”_

Megatron raised a hand to silence Soundwave. “There's hardly any need for such subterfuge, Soundwave. I would like to hear your voice.”

Soundwave nodded. He slid his mouth plate open then spoke, “Are you comfortable?”

A smile crossed the silver mech's face, it had been so long since he had heard his partner's voice. “As comfortable as I can be.”

“Lay on your stomach, my Lord.”

Megatron did as asked. He doubted even one of Soundwave's massages would be able to relax him, but that was no reason not to try.

Soundwave sat next to him on the berth and began carefully applying pressure along Megatron's back, working out tense wires. Megatron had been horribly wrong, this massage was able to soothe away his tension.

“You're a fine leader, my Lord.” Soundwave praised while his hands went lower on Megatron's frame.

Soundwave leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to the back of Megatron's helm. “Your resilience is an inspiration to all of us.”

Megatron smirked. “I don't need your flattery, Soundwave.”

“Of course not, my Lord, but I can't help sing your praises.”

Megatron rolled to his side. He captured Soundwave's chin in his free hand. “Perhaps there are other uses for your mouth.” He captured Soundwave's lips in a fierce kiss before a grin could spread across the communications officer's face.

When Megatron broke the kiss, he rolled on to his back. Soundwave smiled. “Of course, my Lord.”

At once, Soundwave peppered Megatron's frame with kisses. He began at Megatron's chest then lowered himself to his abdomen, tonguing at the various buttons. Megatron groaned, arching his back off the bed and his vents whirring to life. Teasing was never Soundwave's strong suit, he wasted no time in kissing a trail down to Megatron's interface cover.

The cover slid open easily, a bead of lubricant dripping down on to the berth. Eagerly, Soundwave lifted Megatron's legs over his shoulders to position himself between his thighs. He made quick work of lapping along the warlord's entrance. His EM field tingled along Megatron's own, each sending the other pleasant waves of desire. Megatron's strong hands gripped the sides of Soundwave's helm keeping him in place as he continued his ministrations.

Soundwave had years of experience on his side. He knew exactly where and how Megatron liked to be touched. He knew flat, slow, broad licks along the whole surface of Megatron's valve would make him tense and writhe, but couldn't get him to overload. He knew quick flicks on the tip of his outer node would make Megatron's fans whir loudly and his hips rock as he tried to chase his release. To truly please his lord, he had to alternate his techniques. Keep him wanting. Keep him on edge.

Megatron's optics glowed brightly as Soundwave began sucking on his sensitive outer node. “S-Soundwave, “ he groaned. He hoped the meaning in his static-laced words were clear.

They must have been, for soon Soundwave was carefully inserting a finger into Megatron's valve while he continued giving long loving licks. He pumped his finger easily into his lord, Soundwave's EM field seemed to flare up in delight at each groan he drew from Megatron's lips. It was all the encouragement he needed to add a second then a third finger.

Megatron's speech was incomprehensible, words buried under too much static.

“ _Almost!”_ was a phrase chanted in Megatron's mind.

“ _Please, my Lord...”_ Soundwave projected back to the warlord.

It took only a slight crook of his fingers, a slight hollowing of he cheeks, and Soundwave had Megatron screaming his release. The lubricants from his valve rushed on to Soundwave's face and dripped down his chin. Their fields sparked against each other in a passionate dance. Fans spun as fast as they could manage, desperate to cool Megatron's heated frame.

Soundwave gave his lord a few more broad sweeps on his glossa, trying to be sure that Megatron didn't crash down abruptly from his overload. Satisfied with the content hum of Megatron's EM field, Soundwave ceased his actions.

“Do you feel relaxed, my Lord?” Soundwave asked.

Megatron smirked and wiped some of his fluids from Soundwave's face. “I will once you've joined me.”

Soundwave couldn't suppress a smile. “As you command.”

 


	3. Grimlock/Misfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimlock is in heat

Misfire was diligently mixing together every ingredient he could find in the galley. The scent, or perhaps the smoke, must have caught Fulcrum's attention.

“Hey, pinhead,” Misfire gave his usual friendly greeting.

Fulcrum cautiously examined the large pot which housed...everything. “What are you doing, Misfire?”

“Uh, cooking? Isn't that obvious?”

Fulcrum scrunched up his face. “What are you cooking exactly?”

Misfire looked vacantly at the pot and then at Fulcrum. “Dinner.”

“Ah.” Fulcrum took another whiff of the burning concoction in the pot and winced. “Why don't you check on Grimlock? I don't think I've seen him all day. Don't worry, I'll take care of dinner.”

Part of Misfire wanted to protest, he had dinner under control! But honestly, cooking was boring and Grimlock was much more fun. “Yeah, sure,” he replied.

With that, Misfire began to leave. He only got a few steps out of the doorway before he ran back. Poking his head in to the kitchen, he called to Fulcrum, “Be sure to flip it in five minutes!”

“What? Yeah, sure, fine. I'll take care of it. Just go check on Grimlock!” Fulcrum waved a hand at Misfire to shoo him away. He seemed annoyed, which was odd since most of his work was done for him. So ungrateful!

Misfire made the trip to Grimlock's room so frequently, he didn't need to think as he took the necessary turns to get to the habsuit. He pushed the button for the comm. “Grimlock? You in there? It's Misfire.”

“M-Misfire? Come in.” Grimlock's voice sounded strained, but it could have been the faulty wiring in the ship.

The door slid open and Misfire took a wide step in. “Hey, Grimsy! Fulcrum was...” Grimlock was laying on the bed, his spike in hand. His fans were spinning fast and loud. Beads of moisture clung to his trembling frame. The room was warm and there was a sweet scent in the air. It all proved very distracting and Misfire lost his train on thought. “Fulcrum was uh... Worried.”

Grimlock made a deep growl, “'M fine...”

“Yeah well.” Misfire reset his vocalizer. “I'm not. Not anymore.”

The dinobot made a show of stroking his spike slowly. Hand squeezing ever so slightly as his grip ran from base to tip. His optics were dark and his vents were coming out it visible puffs. “Why is that?”

It was clear now that Grimlock was the source of the sweet smell. A distinctive scent that indicated that Grimlock was in heat. Which meant that it was completely unfair that Misfire was the one who was about wantonly beg to be spiked.

“Grimsy... You can't keep that thing to yourself...” Misfire whined. He was trying to sound suave, it just wasn't working.

Misfire wasn't certain when or even how he got to the edge of Grimlock's berth. What he did know was that one of Grimlock's hands was now tugging at his hip to urge him on to the bed. Well, more precisely, on to his lap. Without heat being a factor, Misfire never found himself refusing an interface session with the large Autobot. All that heat did was make it so he couldn't remember certain things.

Such as when his interface panel opened. He was certain is was closed when he entered. Though maybe Fulcrum got used to Misfire leaving himself exposed to “air out” and he forgot to say anything.

Well, it was open now and that was what was important.

Misfire straddled Grimlock's hips, lifting himself enough that he could take a hole of Grimlock's massive spike and position it at his valve entrance. He lowered himself at a speed that he would describe as “patient” and Grimlock normally described as “Slow down, you're going to hurt yourself!” He had the advantage of Grim being too distracted by the haze of his heat to scold him though.

The movement was clumsy at first, Misfire was never a good lead. The pace was random and each downward movement was too hard to be pleasant. Finally Grimlock took hold of Misfire's hips to guide the jet on a steady rhythm. It was still a frantic and desperate speed, but far less painful for all parties.

Misfire scratched over the expanse of Grimlock's chest. Exploring the dents along the plating, tracing along scars and seams. Somehow, Misfire had dome something right in the universe and his reward was riding this handsome dinosaur.

Grimlock's grip grew tighter, dented the plating on Misfire's hips. He was close, they both were. The room was filled with the sound of heavy grunting and whirring vents that began to sputter. It would only take a bit more. Just a few more thrusts. Just a little bit harder!

Misfire was the first to overload, panting desperately as he collapsed on top of Grimlock's chest. His whole frame buzzed pleasantly while he clutched tight on to his partner.

Grimlock was quick to follow, almost slamming Misfire down on to his spike as he roared his overload. Misfire could feel buzzes of static jumping between their frames as they lay limply.

It was comfortable, just the two of them laying there in a too-warm room. Then Grimlock nuzzled Misfire's cheek. “You're not tired already, are you?”

Well, he was already feeling sore but he grinned, “Of course not! Round two!”

 


	4. Thunderclash/Rodimus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus is a bit drunk and very horny

Rodimus has been sending Thunderclash signals all night. And when Rodimus sent signals, they weren't subtle.

No, Rodimus sent signals like leaning over him to have a sip of his drink, winking and saying “Tasty,” in a low voice right in his audial. Or “accidentally” getting too close and grinding against him while Thunderclash was having a drink at the bar. Or asking “Is this seat taken?” and gesturing at his lap.

Subtly wasn't Rodimus' strong suit.

It was probably for the best. Before they had official gotten together, all of Rodimus' subtle attempts to get Thunderclash interested were identical to his attempts to show contempt for the hero. Ignoring him, calling him a glory hog, talking about his tacky paint job. It was only Rodimus getting frustrated with Thunderclash's inability to understand his “flirting” and screaming “I like you, you giant idiot!” that clued Thunderclash in on his intent. So, really, it was for the best that Rodimus had since given up subtext.

Drift giggled from Ratchet's lap. “My seat's getting all hard, I have to go.”

Ratchet vented heavily. “It really isn't. But we probably **should** be going.”

Thunderclash politely bid his friend farewell. Rodimus cheered cries of support for Drift “getting some doctor aft” as said doctor carried his inebriated conjux back to their room.

Rodimus' attention immediately focused on Thunderclash. He peppered kisses along the side of his face. “What about you? Is **my** seat getting hard?”

His face plates heated up. “Ah well,” Thunderclash reset his vocals, “It could be?”

“I'd like that,” Rodimus giggled in delight.

Carrying Rodimus back to their shared room was difficult, Thunderclash's present level of inebriation only being a mild factor. Most of the difficulty came from the young Prime wriggling in his grasp, listing all the obscene things he'd like his partner to do to him. Some of them not being physically possibly. Suck his spike while fragging his aft? A nice thought, but not something Thunderclash could ever achieve.

Thunderclash barely set foot in their room before Rodimus' lips covered his own. He supposed that with how eager his partner was, he should be grateful that they got into the room at all and Rodimus didn't simply accost him in the hall or the bar.

What self-control!

When Thunderclash moved to lock the door, Rodimus jumped on the opportunity to grab Thunders' free hand and caress it against his frame. Well, the door wasn't locked but at least it was closed. Good enough. Probably.

“Can we at least get to the berth?” Thunderclash asked between eager kisses.

“Nope!” Rodimus captured his lips again.

Again, Thunderclash counted himself fortunate that he was at least somewhere private.

Thunderclash pinned Rodimus against the wall next to the door. “Like this then?” he growled, low and seductive.

Rodimus wriggled in his grasp. “Yes!” he gasped.

He kept one hand under Rodimus' aft, gently rocking their interface panels against each other. Thunderclash's other arm lifted one of Rodimus' legs as it braced his weight against the wall.

Every sound, every little hiccuped gasp, every desperate breath, every high-pitched whine that escaped from Rodimus went straight to Thunderclash's panel. He always wanted his Prime. Honestly, Rodimus didn't need to put on any sort of display. He had no doubt that if Rodimus were to demand in a completely deadpan voice that Thunderclash overload for him, he absolutely would.

Not that he didn't like the moaning. That was very nice.

Thunderclash opened his panel first, his large spike pressurizing against Rodimus' still closed panel. Rodimus gasped in delight at the large member pressed against him. “It's like Primus made you just to frag me...” Rodimus said, his voice distant as though he forgot Thunderclash could still hear him.

Rodimus rocked his hips against Thunderclash, pulling him in for another desperate kiss. “Spike me.” The sound of Rodimus' voice begging sent a chill through Thunderclash's frame.

“Anything you ask,” Thunderclash responded, voice breathy. “You do need to open your panel though.”

The speed with which Rodimus slid his interface panel aside caused a loud snap. His valve was so slick, simply grinding his spike against it felt wonderful to Thunderclash. He could have continued like that, but his Prime had made a clear demand.

Slowly, Thunderclash slid his spike into Rodimus' welcoming valve. It was hot, much hotter than anyone else he had been with. He didn't mind, how could he? The flicker of light in Rodimus' optics was enough to make any discomfort worth it. To say nothing of the way the speedster's body tensed, how he gasped and grasped at his shoulders, the tremble in thighs. Everything about this young Prime was breath-taking.

“Well?” Rodimus' venting was heaving and needy. “Frag me.”

Thunderclash adjusted himself so Rodimus' thighs now rested on either arm while he braced himself against the wall. Like this, Rodimus was spread wide open. Thunderclash had to do his best not to look, least he get lost in how seductive the Prime looked. It was honestly shameful how little it took for Thunderclash to overload. Was it his fault though? Rodimus truly was a vision of beauty.

He thrust in, Rodimus' fingers digging into the plating on his back. “Just like that,” the red mech praised.

His pace started slow but didn't stay so for long. Thunderclash laughed to himself, perhaps he should have Rodimus inebriated more often so they could have the same terrible stamina. Not that he minded the long night spent lavishing Rodimus' valve with a loving glossa until the Prime was a moaning mess tangled in the sheets.

Thunderclash groaned. Perhaps now was not the time to think about it.

Rodimus was the first to overload. His thighs gripping Thunderclash's arms while he let out a high whine. His whole body going hot while Thunderclash fragged him through the aftershocks. Fluids gushing from his valve and dripping to the floor.

For Thunderclash, overload was like a sudden release of tension. His body feeling light and his mind fuzzy. He groaned against Rodimus' shoulder as he slumped against him. It was like a sudden high and left him disoriented.

Rodimus smirked as he was slowly lowered to the ground. “We can get on the bed for round two.”

Thunderclash continued to brace himself against the wall.

Round two?

 


	5. Ratchet/Pharma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Delphi  
> Pharma wants Ratchet to pay attention to him

Ratchet was completing his paperwork, perfectly content to not be pestered by his boyfriend.

Unfortunately, his boyfriend was not content to not pester him.

“Ratchet!” Pharma's voice called from the door to the office. “Are you done yet?”

Ratchet vented heavily. “If I was done, Pharma, I wouldn't still be in here.”

Pharma dramatically lay back across his desk. “But I'm bored! Can't you work any faster?”

Rubbing his temple, Ratchet replied, “No. And I can't work at all with you sprawled all over my paper work like this!”

“But Ratchet!” Pharma rolled over, resting his elbows on the desk and his pouting face in his hands. He knocked a few papers to the floor in his unnecessary shuffling. “Can't all this wait? My paperwork can wait!”

With a grumble, Ratchet got out of his seat to clean the mess Pharma had made. “One of us has to be responsible. Find some way to entertain yourself.” Ratchet set himself back at his desk. He gave Pharma a quick peck on the nose. “I'll be done before you know it.” Ratchet then shoved Pharma off his desk.

Theatrically as ever, Pharma sank to the ground. How could Ratchet even have so much paperwork? Their shifts had been over for an hour, why was he still reviewing documents? He huffed in annoyance. Ratchet wanted him to entertain himself? Fine. That's exactly what he would do!

Ratchet felt something nudging at his leg and looked down to see Pharma crawling under his desk. “What are you doing?” he asked with an aggravated tiredness.

“Entertaining myself,” Pharma purred.

“This isn't going to make me work faster...” Ratchet grumbled.

Pharma got on his knees and stroked his hands up Ratchet's thighs. “Then I can take my time.”

This would either slow down Ratchet, as he suggested, or it would make the grouchy doctor work faster so he could enjoy some more intimate time with his partner. Pharma was fine with either outcome.

The flier may have been impatient most of the time, but he knew how to tease. He knew the right way to caress the sensitive metal of Ratchet's inner thigh. The right seams to stroke to get the doctor to groan and spread his legs just a little further apart. Which wires to tug to make the medic tense up in the most delightful way.

“Pharma...” Ratchet moaned. “I'm trying to work...”

“I'm trying to work too,” Pharma purred, “I guess we'll see who's work is more important.”

The answer was Pharma's work. Getting Ratchet to pound him into the desk was clearly more important that reviewing which experimental procedures were having what effect. Pharma was a doctor too, dammit! He knew what he was talking about.

Time for a change of strategy. Pharma licked up and down the length of Ratchet's thigh, loving the warm taste and tight tremors. He nuzzled against the wet trail of oral lubricant his glossa was leaving behind. Not really the fluid he was hoping to get on his face, but he could settle for now. Another long lick along that inner thigh seam followed by a quick bite right before Ratchet's interface panel.

“Pharma!” Ratchet squeaked.

“Done?” Pharma asked innocently.

Ratchet growled. “No.”

Fine! Be that way! Pharma ran his glossa up Ratchet's interface panel. The metal was hot, almost uncomfortably so against Pharma's glossa. Ratchet was so worked up and still refused to let Pharma win? Stubborn old mech! Pharma huffed in annoyance before continuing his important work of lavishing Ratchet's panel. When he began sucking on the metal, that was when Ratchet again yelped.

“Oh? Something to say, my love?” Pharma asked.

“Just... Get it over with,” Ratchet growled and opened his interface panel.

Certainly, the white spike with red accents was a tempting sight, but Pharma had different plans for that. What currently caught his eyes was that beautiful plump valve, lubricants dripping every so temptingly. Pharma reassured himself that he had excellent self-control then immediately began ravishing that lovely valve with his glossa.

Pharma started with long strokes, building interest but nothing fast enough to get Ratchet to overload. He could hear Ratchet's heavy venting, but he could also still hear him writing. How was he still doing any work?! This was insulting.

He began suckling on Ratchet's node. Shallow and quick, he could do better. But this was to get his partner worked up. Worked up enough to stop fragging working and start working on fragging! He switched back to long strokes, working faster and teasing that bright node with the tip of his glossa.

“Ph-Pharma...” Ratchet panted.

Close? Good. Maybe he should stop now while Ratchet was all tense. He bet that now Ratchet would be more than willing to pound him into the desk until it snapped. Well, he could, but that would be a waste of this good valve. Pharma continued stroking the pliable folds with his glossa then went back to sucking on the node.

He felt the rush of fluids hitting his chin, felt thick thighs tighten around his helm, heard the deep groan as Ratchet overloaded. Pharma continued giving the node loving strokes as Ratchet rocked through the rest of his overload. Then gave one last affectionate lick after what seemed like the last shock.

“Are you done with your work now?” Pharma purred. He made a show of cleaning Ratchet's fluids from his chin.

Ratchet grinned. “I was actually finished when you came in. But I thought this might be on your mind.”

Pharma sneered. Why was he in love with his absolute bastard?!

 


	6. Cerebros/Fort Max/Red Alert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cerebros and Red Alert love Fort Max!

Cerebros sat happily in Fort Max's lap, wrapping his arms around him as he nuzzled the large mech's face. “You're so good to us, Max.” Cerebros smiled.

“He's right, you deserve this,” said Red Alert. The security guard was behind Fort Max, massaging his shoulders. Truth be told, Red Alert wasn't great at massages, but he was doing his best and that was more than Fort Max could ask for.

Fort Max wanted to protest the treatment, insist he was too damaged to be so pampered, too violent to be treated so delicately. But anytime he tried to cease his partner's actions, the small mech in his lap would rub his helm against his lips in a silent demand for a gentle kiss. It was perhaps childish, but it stopped him from complaining.

Cerebros ran his servo down Fort Max's chest. “You actually deserve a little bit **more** than this...” His voice held a playful tone.

Red Alert's hands moved lower on Fort Max's back. So, that was where they were going with this? Fort Max smiled, how could he possibly deny them their request?

The large mech helped adjust Cerebros so he was straddling his hips. Behind him, Red Alert rubbed small, delicate circles in his hips. This would likely be the only thing Red Alert did, but it was more than enough. Honestly, he was surprised the red mech was planning on staying at all, he wasn't known for his love of intimacy. This small gesture was enough to warm Fort Max's spark.

Cerebros rocked his hips against Fort Max, their closed panels causing a pleasant friction between them. Fort Max pulled the small mech closer to him, wrapping his arms around him and kissing down his neck. To his surprise, Cerebros pushed him back.

“ **We're** the ones who are supposed to be pampering **you**!” Cerebros protested.

Fort Max chucked and pulled Cerebros back. “This **is** pampering me.” He kissed Cerebos' cheek.

Cerebros made a token noise of protest but made no attempt to push Fort Max away again.

Behind them, Red Alert continued to massage Fort Max's hips. Occasionally, he would lean forward to also caress Cerebros' thighs. Fort Max wished he could do more for him, more than simply receive affection at least. Red Alert had assured both of them that not forcing intimacy on him was the most intimate thing they could offer. So, while it was difficult for mechs as affectionate as Fort Max and Cerebros to understand, they respected their partner's wishes.

Cerebros opened his interface panel letting his spike pressurize. “Care to join me?”

Another kiss to Cerebros' helm. “Of course.” Fort Max opened his own panel. Though he had considered his spike small for a mech of his size, Fort Max's spike still dwarfed Cerebros' own. It was sort of charming, really.

To both of their surprise, Red Alert's hand reached to grasp both spikes, gently jerking them. The movement was a bit awkward at first given the angle, but the mere shock of contact was enough to have Cerebros and Fort Max moaning. Subtle cues in their breathing, small things neither of them would notice, helped Red Alert correct his technique.

Soon, Cerebros and Fort Max were desperately clutching each other as Red Alert stroked them together. Cerebros continued to rock against Fort Max, increasing the sensation for both of them.

Fort Max kissed Cerebros' mouth plate. “You're both so, so good... I...” Fort Max got lost in the sensations once more.

“You know I can't feel that.” Cerebros gave a breathy laugh. It didn't stop him from gripping Fort Max tighter and thrusting against him with greater vigor.

It was Cerebros who was the first to overlord. His vocalizer pitched up until his gasp came out in a squeak. His whole body shook while Fort Max steadied him, kissing the sides of his face. Transfluid shot from his spike and shot between him and Fort Max.

The hot liquid seemed to startle Red Alert, who briefly stopped when it landed on his hand. Though he resumed his quick pace soon enough, now only focusing on Fort Max.

Fort Max clutched Cerebros close, groaning his own release. In contrast to the small mech, his body seemed to still as he rode out his overload. A warm feeling spreading throughout his system and erupting in his spark. He leaned his helm against Cerebros' own, panting hard aside from a few quick kisses.

Cerebros nestled close to Fort Max, humming contently. “Wasn't that nice?”

“It was,” Fort Max sighed.

Red Alert got up, which allowed the pair to rest against the berth, still in an embrace. Red Alert pulled the covers over them. “You deserved that.” He kissed both of their helms. “You both did.”

With that, Red Alert left the room, likely to wash off.

 


	7. Thunderclash/Rodimus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderclash has to improve his stamina

Thunderclash had to improve his stamina. It was a nonnegotiable fact. Laying on your back with your eyes closed while the most beautiful bot in the universe rode your spike? Unacceptable!

“Look at me, Thunders,” Rodimus purred.

Hesitantly, Thunderclash onlined his optics to view the red mech bouncing on his lap.

Rodimus’ optics were darkened with lust, his spoiler slightly twitched behind him, his servos were running up his torso to better tease his partner. He rocked his body in shallow thrusts, not hard enough to overload, not yet, but enough to keep himself interested. Vents pushed hot air against Thunderclash’s thighs in loud whirs. 

“Thunderclash,” Rodimus made a point of moaning the other’s name, “don’t you think I’m pretty?”

Thunderclash reset his vocalizer and tried to keep focus. “Yes, extremely.”

Rodimus slowly ran a hand up from his thigh to this abdomen, continuing upwards to his chest, tilting his head back to stroke his neck and finally rest his hand at the side of his face, slightly licking his pinky as he spoke. “What do you like best about me?”

At the display, Thunderclash accidentally buckled his hips rather forcefully upwards. Rodimus only grinned at the sudden movement and let out a playful growl. Thunderclash tried to not look directly at Rodimus, knowing it would make him overload that much faster. “I like everything about you. I admire your commitment to your crew and its safety. I love your determination and ambition. You’re amazing, Rodimus. You-”

Rodimus cut him off with a small chuckle. He leaned forward to stroke the side of Thunderclash’s face. “Cute, but not what I meant.” He leaned closer, almost pressing his lips to Thunderclash’s, but he immediately pulled back once the large mech leaned forward.

Stretching his arms above his helm, Rodimus stretched out his torso being sure he was giving Thunderclash a good view. “Look at me, Thunders. What’s your favorite part of me  **physically**?”

Without his hands on Thunderclash’s chest to help him balance, Rodimus’ thrusts had become more shallow. Not that it did much to dampen Thunderclash’s building charge, but he was grateful for any reprieve in Rodimus’ teasing. “Physically?” Thunderclash half laughed and half moaned, “Everything about you is stunning, how could I pick my favorite?”

Rodimus let out a panting laugh. “Play along, Thunders. What’s your favorite?” He took Thunderclash’s hands in his own and massaged them along his legs. “Is it my thighs? Many bots have complimented my legs. I had a bot tell me he wanted to shove his spike between my thighs and frag me until he stained my finish with his transfluid. Do you want to do that, Thunders? Do you want to frag my thighs?”

Thunderclash let out a low groan. It was only the mercifully slow pace Rodimus was moving at that kept Thunderclash from overloading immediately. “M-maybe,” he gasped.

Rodimus moved Thunderclash’s hands further up his body. “Is it my aft? I could turn around, give you a better view. Would you like to watch my aft raise and lower on your spike? Want to watch the plating shift to take you all in?”

“Th-that’s fine,” Thunderclash forced the words out.

“My abs? My chest?” Rodimus pulled Thunderclash’s hands higher. “I work hard to keep my finish looking clean, I would hate for all the work to be going to waste.” He ran Thunderclash’s hands up and down his torso. “You know, “ Rodimus purred, “There is a certain polish I wouldn’t mind you putting on me.”

Thunderclash’s vents ran hot. Rodimus surely must notice how close he was. His EM field radiated with need, tingling against Rodimus’ own field. Moisture clung to his plating in small beads. “Rodimus… Please…”

Rodimus frowned, “What are you begging for? I’m the one still waiting on an answer. Oh! I bet your favorite part is my spoiler. A lot of bots have a thing for spoilers, bet you’re one of them. You want to bend me over and grab on to my spoiler as you pound my valve. You want to pull out at the last second and coat my spoiler with your transfluids.”

Another loud groan from Thunderclash. His hands tightened into fists against Rodimus’ chest. His head lulled to the side as he desperately tried to halt his overload until Rodimus was satisfied. 

“Look at me,” Rodimus commanded and Thunderclash weakly obeyed. “What’s your favorite part?”

Charge buzzed within Thunderclash, arcing off his plating and tickling Rodimus’ frame. He was so close, but he couldn’t let himself overload. “Your face!” he cried out. “Your optics are brilliant, your smile is radiant, every point on your helm frames your face perfectly!” 

Rodimus smiled softly. “All I wanted to hear.”

Rodimus barely picked up his pace, rocking down on the large spike, before Thunderclash overloaded. The whole berth shook from the force of Thunderclash shuddering on the metal slab. Sparks flickered in front of his optics and they shove with a bright light. His fans hitched as they struggled to keep up with the cooling demands of his body. Hot transfluid shot deep inside Rodimus’ valve making the smaller mech moan. 

Gasping for cool air, Thunderclash let his head fall back to the berth. He onlined one optic to weakly look at his partner. “Did you?”

Rodimus smiled and stroked the side of Thunderclash’s face. “No but, you’re getting better.”


	8. Spinister/Krok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spinister and Krok have some private time

Krok firmly gripped Spinister’s shoulders as he lowered himself on the helicopter’s spike. He grit his teeth as the large spike stretched his valve wide.

Spinister kissed Krok’s neck, “It’s okay if you can’t.” He had has hands on Krok’s hips, keeping him steady but not trying to urge Krok down.

“I’ve got this Spins…” Krok’s voice hitched. He could do this, he  **wanted**  to do this. Just had to go slow. He moved carefully, feeling every inch of Spinister’s spike as it slowly entered him. Ridges along the spike rubbed against internal nodes making Krok whine and lose his focus with the sudden shocks of pleasure.

“You’re almost there.” Spinister nuzzled his helm encouragingly.

A little more and Spinister would be completely inside him. The thought was enough to make Krok shudder before he cried out as the spike hit his ceiling node. Krok collapsed forward into Spinister’s arms, venting heavily.

“Are you alright?” Spinister asked.

“Yeah…just… Give me a second,” Krok panted.

Spinister was content to rub Krok’s back and kiss the side of his helm. “You’re really hot like this,” Spinister whispered into Krok’s audial, “Gripping on to me, vents running on, valve stretched wide from my spike.”

Another shudder. “Spins…” Krok moaned.

“Let me know when you’re ready, I’ll go slow. I want this to last anyway.”

Krok forced himself to sit upright, or more so than he had been. “I’m good,” he said with a sigh.

Spinister kept his promise, moving Krok slowly, gently, carefully. The monoformer again clenched his jaw and squeezed Spinister’s shoulders. He had never taken a spike so large, never wanted to. But with Spinister, with his partner, he wanted it.  **Badly**. And the string from being stretched so wide was beginning to leave, giving way to a haze of pleasure.

As Spinister moved, his spike rubbed perfectly on Krok’s internal nodes. Krok tried to keep his composure, despite his flickering optics giving away his current state. The pace was beginning to irritate him, he could take more.

“Faster,” Krok wrapped his arms around Spinister neck.

“If you want.” Spinister did as asked, thrusting faster, though still holding himself back. He had certainly done what he could to assure that Krok would be ready for him, his sore glossa could confirm that, but he that was no excuse to be rough for their first time.

Krok’s thighs began shaking. It was good, but it still wasn’t enough. He tried to rock his hips and encourage Spinister to speed up further, but the medic’s strong grip prevented him from being too demanding. “Spins,” he whined.

Spinister didn’t obey this time, instead wrapping a servo around Krok’s spike. He leaned down to growl in Krok’s audial, “We need to be careful, you could seriously hurt yourself. Unless you want to explain to Misfire why you’re walking funny tomorrow.”

Krok gasped at the extra contact. “I’m going to be walking funny either way! Please! Just a little more!”

With a sigh, Spinister listened, speeding up just a bit, the pace was still slow, but not the agonizing pace he had been going at.

Better, but still not enough. Krok tried a different tactic, pressing his lips to Spinister’s as he reached back to stroke the medic’s propeller blades. While Spinister grunted and shuttered, he still didn’t increase speed.

Instead, Spinister tightened his grip on Krok’s spike and rubbed his thumb along the head. Krok buckled his hips in response. He leaned down to growl in Krok’s audial, “Next time, I’ll press you against the berth. I’ll lift your aft up and after I’ve licked you into overload three times, I’ll shove my spike into your hot valve. Then I’ll pound you against the berth until you scream.”

Krok shook in his arms, venting heavily. “Please,” he begged.

“Next time,” Spinister kissed Krok’s cheek. “Right now, we’re going nice. And. Slow.” Spinister slowed his speech in time with his thrusts on the last three words.

“You should enjoy this too,” Krok panted. He was closer than he wanted to admit.

“I have a handsome mech in my lap. A handsome mech who I’ve been dreaming about for months. You think I’m not enjoying this?” Spinister laughed.

Krok sighed, defeated. Spinister would have his gentle interfacing.

It wasn’t much longer, the pleasurable haze that had been building in his mind had taken over Krok’s thoughts. It was then, when his voice was static, when his fans worked overtime, when electricity sparked from his optics, that Spinister picked up the pace. Just a little, just enough to drive Krok wild.

Trying to keep himself quiet, Krok bit down into Spinister’s shoulder as he overloaded. Body tensing, optics offlining, moans muffled against Spinister’s shoulder. He felt heat rush over his frame finally coming out his spike as transfluid splashing against his chest. It wasn’t long before Spinister followed, his own fluid leaking out Krok’s very fully valve.

Spinister lifted Krok off of himself before he allowed himself to lay down. Krok curled up against him and did his best to wrap an arm around the larger mech.

“How was that?” Spinister asked.

“Good but,” Krok huffed in annoyance, “You better keep your promise about next time.”


	9. Megatron/Minimus/Swerve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron and Swerve love Minimus!

Megatron gently ran his servos up Minimus’ thighs as he kissed his neck. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered into Minimus’ audial.

Minimus had his legs spread obscenely wide, straddling Megatron’s thighs, his leaking valve being eagerly lapped at by Swerve. A warning message flashed distantly in his processor about how he shouldn’t be so exposed to anyone. But, pressed the two bots who loved him dearest, he could only feel safe.

“M-Megatron… Swerve…” Minimus moaned barely above a whisper, “I… I’m…” static prevented the rest of his statement from being intelligible.

“Just relax,” Megatron kissed his forehead.

Swerve’s sucked on Minimus’ outer node before lavishing it with his glossa. His hands rested on the green bot’s hips, digits occasionally being brushed by Megatron’s. 

Minimus continued to writhe and moan until Swerve finally flicked his node just so and he felt his world burst into light before him. Electricity crackled in front of his optics, his thighs quaked, he could hear himself cry out loudly, but was unable to stop it.

It took a few cycles for Minimus to get his core temperature under control, when he finally did, his first words were, “I’m sorry.”

Megatron kissed his temple, “What for?” 

“I…” He wasn’t sure  **what**  he was sorry for, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.

Then he felt Swerve’s arms around him. “You’re adorable, you know? And really hot too, but like, I think you know that part? Actually maybe you don’t so I’ll tell you again, you’re really hot!”

Minimus saw Megatron’s massive servo caress Swerve’s helm. “He’s right. You have nothing to apologize for.”

A warning still flashed in his processor, still cautioning him about his predicament. But in all honesty, Minimus had never felt safer.


	10. Riptide/Pipes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pipes is a pillow prince

Pipes had a particular way he liked to do things, and that way was on his back with his partner doing all the work. He could, like, arch his back and moan if his partner was into that, he wasn’t selfish.

“Oh, uh, yeah we could do that. Just one spike, right? You’re kinda small.” Riptide looked up from where he was nibbling on Pipe’s neck.

“One spike?” Pipes asked.

Riptide smiled, “Yeah, I’ve got two. You could try taking both but, you  **are**  tiny.”

Pipes’ optics brightened. “How… How have you done it with past partners?”

Riptide began to idly stroke along Pipe’s side as he spoke, “A few wanted to spike me, that was easy enough. Only one or two bots wanted both. Mostly they seem to like when I frag them while they rub our spikes together.”

Hmm, that would involve actually work on Pipe’s part. He was eager to try getting pounded by both spikes, but the part of his processor responsible for self-preservation reminded him that his valve was not going to be happy about that. His valve might not even be happy about  **one** spike from a bot twice his size. (His valve would have to deal because he was not not fragging this dream boat.)

He supposed he could move his wrist, you know, for the greater good.


	11. Megatron/Minimus/Swerve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it in yet?

Megatron arched his back and spread his legs wider to assist the smaller bot between them in hitting just the right spots. Swerve was doing his best to swallow his nerves and give Megatron his most enthusiastic performance, but it was difficult to believe his short spike could do anything to please the former warlord. He would like to believe that any of Megatron’s panting was from his efforts, but it was more likely that the silver mech was only responding to his own thrusts into Minimus.

Minimus took Sweve’s face between his hands and kissed him passionately, lip plating meshing together as though that was their natural position. The kiss was broken by a notably hard thrust from Megatron which jostled Minimus from his position with a sudden gasp.

“Both of you…” Megatron gasped out in a strained tone. The sentiment was left hanging as a long static filled moan escaped Megatron’s lips. “Keep going…” the request came out more as an order in his growling voice. 

Swerve gave a breathy chuckle. “I’m glad he’s enjoying this,” he said quietly, hoping Megatron wouldn’t hear. Slamming his hips against Megatron, Swerve pounded into him as hard as he could, doing his best to bring him to overload. 

Minimus wrapped his arms around Swerve for support as he sped up the rhythm of his hips rocking on Megatron’s spike. He slammed his mouth to Swerve’s doing his best to silence himself as he cried out his overload. His thighs tightened around Megatron’s hips and his body shook around Swerve.

The sudden tightening around his spike drove Megatron into his own overload, his hands tightening around Minimus’ thighs. He growled lower and rough, dentae clenching as electricity shot through him.

With only a few more thrusts, it was Swerve’s turn to overload. His own cry more of a squeal against Minimus’ cheek than any sort of roar. Spent, he pulled out from the larger mech. Megatron whined at the loss of sensation, which made Swerve give a small smile.

The big guy really did feel it.


	12. Ratchet/Rodimus/Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus is in heat

Rodimus was clearly distracted. Which wasn’t all together unusual when he was on the bridge. It seemed that no matter how important what was happening, the young captain could find it in himself to not care. 

But this was different. This wasn’t Rodimus focusing on something else or fidgeting everywhere. This was Rodimus looking at nothing while his optics were unfocused and his face was flushed. Honestly, it was more distracting than when he was pacing back and forth and starting conversations with random people while Magnus tried to give a report. 

Finally, Rodimus excused himself from the bridge, still seeming dazed. Ratchet couldn’t help but follow. Whether out of medical concern or romantic, he wasn’t sure. 

Ratchet knocked on the door to Rodimus’ habsuite though he ultimately burst in before waiting for a reply. “Are you…” the warm air that carried with it a particular fragrance hit Ratchet in the face before he could even finish the simple question. “O…kay?” Ratchet struggled to finish the thought.

Rodimus was laying on the berth on his stomach. He had a pillow underneath his hips which he had begun rutting against. His panels were wide open, letting that sweet scent penetrate the air around them. 

So, the captain was in heat. 

Ratchet grinned as he approached the berth and sat on the edge. “Sweetspark, why didn’t you tell me?” He ran a hand up Rodimus’ thigh, carefully avoiding the bright yellow valve lips.

Rodimus moaned into the berth. “I was going to… I messaged Drift… Was gonna message you next.” He voice was breathy and he tried to rock back into Ratchet’s cruelly denied touch. “Ratch… Please…” he red mech whined.

“Hmm… Don’t you think we should wait for Drift?” Ratch ran a finger up the length of Rodimus’ valve slit. “It would be rude to start without him.”

Rodimus shuddered and whined. “Please…”

Honestly, Ratchet was ready to go as well. But he could hold off purely for the novelty of tormenting his younger partner. His spike throbbed against it’s cover and each deep inhale of the smell of Rodimus’ heat made it harder for him to ignore his panel’s request to open. But he could endure.

Not that he had to wait long. Drift entered the room, practically slamming the suite door closed on his way in. Blue optics drank in the sight before him and Ratchet could see the way they immediately darkened with lust.

Ratchet smiled at him, “Our dear sparkmate needs some assistance.”

Drift frowned. “And you’ve just been teasing him, haven’t you?”

“Guilty.” 

Drift walked over to Rodimus and knelt down in front of the birth by Rodimus’ face. He stroked the side of his face. “Poor thing, you’re burning up. Here, sit up.”

Rodimus would have listened to anything Drift had told him to do at that point. He slowly dragged himself up and sat with his back against the headboard of his berth. 

“That’s better isn’t it?” Drift smiled and kissed his cheek before turning his attention to Ratchet. “As for you,” he frowned. 

Drift swung a leg over Ratchet and settled in his lap. He ground their heated panels together and he pressed their lips together. Ratchet ran his hands up Drift’s sides, sensitive fingers sending soft jolts of pleasure as they felt each ridge.

Rodimus let out a particularly loud whine. “Guys! Come on!” 

Ratchet pulled away from Drift long enough to tease, “You have to wait your turn.” 

“Honestly, Rodimus, you need to work on your patience,” Drift scolded.

Rodimus started to rub his external node, trying to achieve any type of relief as he was forced to watch his partners make out with each other and not with him. He groaned at the touch, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough but needing to do  **something**. 

This time, Drift pulled away from Ratchet, rolling off of him to finally focus on Rodimus. He shooed Rodimus’ hand away to replace the red mech’s fingers with his own, cautiously dipping them into his valve. “Primus you’re slick.”

“That’s,” Rodimus groaned, “That’s what happens.”

Drift lifted Rodimus into a kiss while still pumping his fingers into him. Breaking the kiss, he looked to Ratchet. “Why not come over here?” 

Ratchet obeyed and settled behind Rodimus, effectively pinning him between himself and Drift. His hands settled on Rodimus’ thighs, coaxing them further apart as Drift continued to finger him. Finally, Ratchet opened his interface panel and let his spike spring free. 

Drift kissed Rodimus’ cheek and whispered into his audial, “Do you want to try something?” Though he was speaking to Rodimus, his optics were firmly locked with Ratchet’s. 

Rodimus made only a desperate whimper in response.

“Relax and let me know if we need to stop.” Drift again kissed Rodimus on the cheek. “Lift him up a little, please.”

It took a second before Ratchet understood that Drift was addressing him, but one he did, he listened to the request. Letting Rodimus lean back against him, Ratchet lifted him up by the thighs. He nearly dropped him when he felt Drift’s slender fingers take a hold of his spike and press it against his own.

“Remember, say if you need to stop.” Drift pressed a quick kiss to Rodimus’ lips then nodded his head in a gesture to Ratchet. The meaning was quickly understood and Ratchet lowered the red mech on to his and Drift’s spikes. 

Rodimus moaned and wrapped his arms around Drift, yellow fingers scratching at the white paint of his back. “I’m fine!” he cried out before Drift had a chance to ask.

Ratchet was slow and careful in lowering Rodimus, allowing him time to adjust or ask them to stop. Finally, the pair was fully inside their captain. 

“Are you alright?” Ratchet asked, gasping into Rodimus’ audial. 

“Y-yeah. Just… Be gentle.”

Ratchet kissed the back of Rodimus’ helm and waited for Drift to make some signal before he began rocking Rodimus against them in a slow pace. 

Rodimus’ valve was hot and so, so slick, which was normal for any mech in heat. Having Drift’s spike rub against his own added to the tight pleasure of being squeezed by Rodimus’ valve as Ratchet rocked into him. 

The sounds of vents from the trio filled the room in a hypnotic whir that Ratchet tried to focus on to help him last longer. He knew it wasn’t helping. Not that he could focus on the sounds of fans when there were the sounds of Drift’s grunting or Rodimus’ desperate whines to listen to. 

He sped up. Afterall, if he was getting close then Rodimus, the one who was actually in heat, had to be even closer, right? Either way, no one objected. 

Seemed Ratchet’s hope was wrong as he was the first to overload. Transfluids spilled out from his spike and down Rodimus’ valve. Ratchet choked on his own cry as his body slumped forward and wrapped around Rodimus. 

Fortunately, that was the catalyst needed for Rodimus and Drift to hit their own overloads. Honestly, if he wasn’t so old the sound of his two partners hitting peak ecstasy might would have been enough to have Ratchet asking about a second round.

As it was, it just had him encouraging the other two back to lay against the berth as they all tried to cool down their systems. 


	13. Riptide/Pipes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pipes is a pillow prince?

With their height difference, it was easy for Riptide to reach the number pad for his habsuite despite Pipes clinging to Riptide’s waist, fingers dipping into seams where they could. The smaller mech giggled as he nuzzled against the boat’s hips. 

Riptide let out a strained groan as Pipes managed to brush a sensitive wire cluster in his thigh. “Pipes… I’m trying to enter my code.” 

Another drunken laugh from Pipes, “I’m trying to enter your code too.”

It only took two attempts from Riptide to get the door open and quickly usher himself and Pipes inside before slamming his palm on the button to close the door. Did he remember to lock it? Yeah, probably.

Although he was only half Riptide’s size, Pipes forced Riptide back onto his berth. Even sitting on the berth, Riptide still towered over Pipes. The smaller mech let out a noise of frustration as he leaned forward standing on the tips of his pedes as he tried to kiss his partner. Riptide leaned down and kissed Pipes’ mouthplate.

“I think you forgot something, Pipis,” Riptide laughed.

Pipes huffed and slid his mouthplate to the side, exposing how his face was slightly darkened from his overcharge. “ **You** forgot something,” Pipes retorted. 

He still couldn’t reach Riptide’s mouth without help and he was feeling far too indignant to ask the boat to lean down. Instead, Pipes climbed up the berth, forcing Riptide to lean back as he went until he could finally capture the mech’s lips with his own. 

Riptide ran his hands along Pipes’ sides and down to his aft pressing his large hand against the heated panels. Pipes squeaked and grabbed Riptide’s wrists to force them on either side of Riptide’s head. Not that he could actually overpower the larger mech without his cooperation. 

Pipes had a particular way he liked to interface and that generally involved him doing none of the work. Riptide never minded, but he was very intrigued by this new forceful side Pipes was showing him. As Pipes pulled back from their kiss, he looked down at Riptide, all toothy grin and eyes dark from lust and overcharge. 

Pipes gave a crooked half-grin, “You’re too handsome. Stop it.”

Riptide laughed, “You’re one to talk.” 

“I’ll give you something to laugh about.” Pipes tried to frown, but found himself smiling. 

The minibot kissed down Riptide’s neck, down his chest, his hips, his panel. It was one way Pipes enjoyed being so much smaller than Riptide, how long he could draw out the slow worshiping of Riptide’s frame with his mouth. 

Pipes was again at the floor with Riptide still on the berth, though now he was kneeling between the larger mech’s legs. He lapped at the closed panels, reveling in the slight vibrations of Riptide’s legs. Pipes’ glossa teased at the seams at Riptide’s upper thighs, taunting stroking the delicate wires.

“You going to open up?” Pipes teased.

Riptide reset his vocalizer, “Right, sorry.”

Riptide’s panel hissed open, exposing his moist valve and fully erect spikes. Pipes immediately took one spike in each hand and began stroking as he peppered both heads in soft kisses. Holding them close together, Pipes was just able to get the tips of both spikes in his mouth. He sucked gently as he continued to stroke.

Growls came from Riptide as his hands gripped desperately at the sides of the berth. “P-Pipes,” he groaned.

Pipes gave up on trying to suck both spikes and focused his mouth on the upper one while continuing to jerk the lower one. He could only swallow about half the length, but this didn’t seem to bother Riptide. Pipes gave firm strokes to the lower one, while tracing the upper one with his glossa. He pressed his mouth to the side and sucked up the length, doing his best to give oral stimulation to the full spike. 

Satisfied with the attention to one, Pipes switched. Now he stroked the upper spike and licked the lower one from base to tip. Pipes’ glossa swirled around the tip, mimicking the movements of his thumb on the other spike. 

“Pipes… Pipis… I’m close…” A groan escaped from Riptide as he tried to speak. “You… might wanna back off.”

Pipes didn’t seem interested in listening. He sucked what he could fit of Riptide’s lower spike as he rapidly jerked the upper spike. The minibot seemed intent on his glossa making up for his limited ability to swallow. Licking the head, teasing at the ridges.

A few more strokes and Pipes felt Riptide’s overload. Hot transfluid spilled into his mouth as spurts covered his face. He managed to not jerk away from surprise and kept his mouth around Riptide’s spike through the whole overload. He swallowed hard, trying to contain all of Riptide’s overload. Once he seemed done, Pipes gave a few tentative strokes to be sure there was no transfluid left. Riptide squeaked and jerked his hips from the unexpected contact. Satisfied that his partner was finished, Pipes leaned back and placed a gentle kiss to the heads of both spikes. 

He crawled back on top of Riptide, straddling his chest. “Have fun, dreamboat?”

Riptide gave a toothy grin and wiped away some of his transfluid from Pipes’ cheek. “Ride my face and I’ll show you.”


End file.
